


Daydreamer ~ an interlude

by theoneandonlyzoom



Series: Dreamwalker [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, M/M, Post-TLJ, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resistance Hux, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, and his outer demons too..., but he's still got his inner demons, he's so hopeful for the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 17:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17063867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneandonlyzoom/pseuds/theoneandonlyzoom
Summary: It’s been 152 days since his liberation, and Hux is only just beginning to settle into his new life. All things considered, everything is going relatively well for him...Until it's suddenly not.((Sequel toLucid Dreamer))





	Daydreamer ~ an interlude

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: You're probably wondering why I'm writing an "interlude" in the first place. Well, there's going to be a modest time-jump between the last fic and the story following this one, so I decided to do a little of the heavy lifting involved with setting the next stage now rather than later by cramming some necessary background information into this one-shot. It's still an adventurous piece, don't worry. I can't let Hux get too comfortable, after all...
> 
> By the way, if you’re a fellow fan of _Chuck_ , _Tangled_ , or the upcoming _Shazam!_ movie, then you’ll know who the amazing human being that Zachery Levi is. He just so happens to be the inspiration for today’s guest star, in case you wanted a visual aid, because I honestly couldn't think of anyone with a cheerier disposition...

_“All men dream: but not equally._

_Those who dream by night_ _in the dusty recesses of their minds_ _wake up in the day to find it was vanity,_

 _but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men,_ _for they may act their dreams with open eyes,_

_to make it possible.”_

― T.E. Lawrence

~***~

152 days.

It’s been 152 days since his liberation. Hux knows this with absolute certainty because he keeps a running total in his head, less by choice and more from habit. He once lived a life defined by unforgiving parameters. All measures of time and dimensions were of the utmost important to both his work and his vitality.

One false move could spell death.

Life is no longer a great balancing act between pain and the abyss, but there’s still a part of him that clings to his old ways, to the quiet, incessant counting and the urge to watch his back. He knows this is a natural reaction after years of abuse, but _knowing_ doesn’t make it any easier to kick the habit.

Hux closes his eyes.

It’s been 152 days since his liberation, and Hux is on one of the recreational space stations orbiting Gammit, the smallest planet of the Talos system. Yesterday was the federal election day for half of the 500 senatorial seats in the upper chamber. No one is really surprised by the results—the Talos system has always been a remarkably liberal place, with the most forward thinking individuals always taking the lead—but the celebrations are still in full swing. All around him are merry people, drinking, laughing, toasting to the health of the 23 elected officials of Gammit. Life is well in their small slice of the universe.

Hux never had the luxury of relaxing in the company of his own people when he was an officer of the First Order, and so he still finds it difficult to relax now. He stands in one corner beside the viewport, a non-alcoholic drink in hand, eyes glued to the swirling blue surface of the oceanic world below. Gammit looks like a perfect marble from the space station’s current position at the opposite pole of the planet’s solitary continent. It looks peaceful. Unrealistically so, but it succeeds in drawing him away from the room, from all the ruckus and hype.

But before too long, he feels a hand on his shoulder. It shatters the illusion of solitude and brings him back to the colour and noise of jubilation, gold confetti now showering down on him from a large balloon popped by a child riding her father’s shoulders. She is all smiles and laughter, brown eyes sparkling as she watches the light dance off the twirling foils floating through the air.

“You look like you’re at a funeral,” Leia Organa says, voice slightly raised over the music drifting across the room from the small band in the far, far corner. Hux can’t see them, but the acoustics in this place are truly remarkable. There’s nowhere he can go to escape the sound.

“I need to get out of here in the next five hours,” he replies, which isn’t a lie. He’s needed on Talos Prime, the largest planet of the system. If he misses the next ship from Gammit, he’ll be in a world of trouble.

“They’re ready for you now,” she chuckles. It’s a relief to hear that. “Come with me.”

Her hand slips from his shoulder as she turns into the crowd, making her way slowly toward the exit. Together they step out into the hall, where the music is muffled but conversation among the patrons is still in full swing, continuing to push through the masses and past the main docking gate. She leads him around a bend, then another, until the people thin out and Hux can hear himself breathe again. Then, at long last, she approaches a door, knocking politely once before ushering him inside.

The room beyond is dark and quiet. The only light comes from the large viewport on his left and a small, glowing desk lamp in the form of a large and misshapen blue stone. There are only three other individuals in the room, two older humans—a man and a woman—and a young Twi’lek woman with lilac skin. They stand together behind the desk, speaking amongst themselves in low tones until they see Hux.

The man is Senator Sutor of Gammit. The older woman is Senator Provnik and the Twi’lek is Senator Grace, both representatives of Talos Prime. Hux has met them all before. 143 days ago, to be precise.

Senator Grace is the first to speak, lips quirked in a small smile. “We were able to verify the initial intel you shared with us,” she begins. “Of the three outposts you mentioned, one was still active. There were remnants of activity at the other two, which took us a little longer than we expected to unearth. Given what we found, we have no trouble believing the threat the First Order poses to us.”

“Suffice to say,” Provnik adds, “we believe you would be an asset to the lower chamber.” She leans forward to swipe a datapad off the desk before making her way across the room to Hux.  “General Organa has already explained the nature of your dealings with the First Order and your desire to remain anonymous at all costs. Three signatures are required for the nomination of an unnamed refugee, and so we’ve all agreed to vouch for you. All we need from you is a fingerprint and a signature with your assumed name.”

Nodding, Hux takes the datapad and presses his right fore- and middle fingers against the small box at the bottom of the screen. After a second, it beeps, displaying a new box for his signature.

He’s known what his assumed name would be for the last 75 days. He pens it out carefully and then hands the datapad back to the Senator.

“Please keep in mind that this signature is only legally binding on documents pertaining to your work,” she says. “Unless you go through the trouble of filling out the paperwork for an official name change, that’s the extent of its power. Of course, it’s painfully easy to get your hands on a fake ID nowadays, so I don’t suppose you’ll have much trouble finding a way to build a life for yourself on Talos Prime.”

Hux nods again. He’s already been hooked up with a fake ID—curtesy of one Poe Dameron—and he has no desire to make it official. Doing so would only generate a paper trail, through which the First Order could easily track him down.

“In three days, you will be sworn in as a junior advisor under your assumed name,” Sutor chimes in. “You will shadow Councilman Marh for the first few months to get a feel for your other duties. The sooner you familiarize yourself with our laws, the sooner we can sign off on your training. Do you have any questions?”

Thankfully, Hux spent most of his life poring over paperwork. It was tiresome, but he was good at pushing himself through the tedium. In fact, he’d already begun reading the hundreds of files Organa sent him, trying to prepare himself for his new role as legislative advisor.

Of course, becoming the equivalent of a government lawyer wouldn’t be as much of a change from his old profession as he would’ve liked, but at least this way he would have the ear of the Talos Senate when it came time to dealing with the First Order.

“Not presently,” Hux replies.

“We would like to discuss more of the First Order with you once the election fever is over.” Provnik’s eyes flicker toward the door, aware of the festivities still ongoing. “Our own positions won’t be officially renewed until the end of the month. We will speak with you then.”

“Thank you,” he says, tilting his head forward in a modest bow.

They return the bow, which is as good as any cue that this conversation is over. Hux interprets it as such anyway and leaves, Organa trailing close behind him, smiling faintly.

Once they’re back out in the hall and well on their way to the station’s exit, he says, “This seems like such any awfully long-winded way of dealing with the First Order.”

“You know, Han used to love complaining about my methods,” Organa muses fondly, pulling up alongside him. “He didn’t understand why a person would want to go through ‘the proper channels’ to deal with an unorthodox threat. Granted, some governments are run by stubborn old mules that can’t be trusted, but the people of Talos know how to covertly undermine criminal enterprises in a timely manner. Be patient. You’ll see.”

In truth, he knows she’s right. Technically, the First Order is still a silent threat, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to demonstrate their military might. No honourable body of government would make a move against them without just cause.

Even so, Hux can’t help his restlessness.

He has 152 days of sitting idle to thank for that.

“Try to relax,” Organa says as they make their way back toward the docking gate. The steadily growing thrum of music and cheerful voices greet them as they approach. “Today is supposed to be a day of celebration.”

“I will,” he offers, which is a lie if ever there was one.

Organa, who knows him all too well, glances up at him wirily as they stop before the gate. “For your own sake. Please?”

He takes a deep breath and then slowly exhales, trying to focus on releasing a bit of tension that’s taken up permanent residence in his shoulders. After he’s had a moment to collect himself, he accepts the hug she offers him, gently enveloping her small frame in his arms.

“Take care,” she says when she pulls away. “I’ll see you again soon.”

Knowing she has still important work to do here, Hux nods and watches as she disappears back into the crowd, off to forge new alliances with sympathizers of the Resistance’s plight.

Hux envies her energy. He used to be likewise energized when he was an officer of the FO, practically living on half the amount of sleep and rations. Now, he feels tired all the time. And anxious. And depressed… In fact, the only time he _doesn’t_ feel downtrodden or sluggish is when he’s in the company of his newfound friends.

Admittedly, he’s glad he’ll be reunited with them soon. Hopping on the small ferry shuttle in the loading dock, he tries to focus on the festivities they themselves have planned for tonight as he settles into a seat at the far back of the ship and closes his eyes.  

The initial ferry ride only takes fifty minutes before they reach the Midway Station situated between Gammit and the Doltarian system, which houses thirty-two small planets inhabited by almost a hundred different tribes. The station is a major junction between the Doltarian and Talos systems and the port from which he’ll be catching a much larger ship to Talos Prime in about four hours.

As usual, the station is buzzing with activity, though less of the celebratory sort. Like the others on his ferry, Hux allows himself to be washed away into the sea of people trying to get to their respective flights. He already knows Gate 17, his next destination, is nearby, so he shoves his hands into the pockets of his loose, beige coat and simply goes with the flow, wondering what he should do with his free time.

‘Free time’ is still a new concept to him, as is social drinking for fun rather than political gain and wearing comfortable, unimpressive clothing. He neglected to bring anything to read with him, so that leaves him with one of two options: take a nap or meditate.

The urge to sleep is strong, but it would be a bad idea to succumb to the urge, mostly because he realizes his lethargy is due to his inability to sleep a whole night through, thanks to his nightmares, and getting a little shut eye now would only prevent him from falling asleep on time this evening, further exacerbating the problem…

Meditation it is.

He finds an empty chair near his gate, sandwiched between a young couple and an older gentleman with what appears to be his three year old granddaughter, and sets the small chronometer on his wrist to vibrate in three and a half hours. Then he crosses his legs, folds his hands together over his lap, and closes his eyes.

He retreats into the dreamscape.

When Luke vanished for the last time, Hux thought the dreamscape would go with him. After all, Luke was the one who connected him to the pocket universe in the first place and reshaped it to mirror a place familiar to them both. However, its existence persisted in the wake of Luke’s passing, and Hux continued to retreat there whenever he had a moment to himself, seeing no reason to abandon his old friend and mentor’s gift.

As usual, he reopens his eyes to find himself sitting on a fallen log on the beach by the lake. It’s warm and breezy here, sunlight dancing over the water’s surface. The soft sounds of nature swell behind him, the soft buzz of an arthropod, the rustle of leaves, the distant chirp of a bird—all exactly as he remembers it during his time on the planet.

Except, of course, for the man.

Hux freezes up.

He does nothing more than sit there in stunned silence for an embarrassingly long moment, so shocked to find someone else in his sanctuary that he doesn’t immediately know what to do. The last time someone encroached on his mental territory, it took a marvelous amount of fear and anger to wrangle the laws of this dimension’s nature under his control and oust the intruder. He doesn’t know if he has the energy to do that again now.

Thankfully, _this_ intruder doesn’t even appear to be aware of Hux’s presence. The tall and slender dark-haired fellow has his back turned, hands on his hips, staring out across the water in silence. After an uncomfortably long moment where neither one of them moves a muscle, Hux begins to wonder if his tired brain hasn’t somehow accidentally created the facsimile of a man.

But then said man turns around, smiles brightly at Hux, and says, “This is _amazing_!”

Alarmed, Hux hits the proverbial ejection button, jettisoning himself back into reality before he can determine whether engaging with this stranger or running from him is the wiser decision. He opens his eyes and sucks in a deep breath, startling the small girl beside him. She shares a puzzled look with him as he timidly rises from his seat and wanders off to find something to drink.

Maybe he’ll take a nap after all.

~***~

But he doesn’t.

He’s too paranoid.

After purchasing a bottle of water off a mobile vendor, he takes a walk around the station. That eats up about an hour of his time and puts enough mental distance between himself and the bizarre encounter that he begins to doubt what he encountered was even a real person. After all, his brain still enjoyed playing tricks on him whenever he was tired or stressed. More than once, in fact, he’d felt as though Ren was lurking somewhere in the shadows, only for Leia to softly remind him that he wasn’t.

Hux’s aimless wanderings gradually bring him back to Gate 17. There are more open seats this time, most of the travellers having boarded a different ship during Hux’s absence, so he picks out a chair belonging to a row near the viewport, settles down, and tries to relax. In just two and a half hours, he’ll be boarding the next shuttle, followed by a short ride on the ground home. Nothing eventful should happen between then and now.

Except, of course, something does.

A cleanshaven, young man no older than Hux, with short, black hair and a charming smile, sits down in the row opposite him. At first, Hux doesn’t recognize the fellow simply because he saw more of the back of his head than anything else in the dreamscape, but when he realizes he knows him, it startles a better—if somewhat useless—response out of him than the last time; instead of freezing up, he flicks his wrist subtly, which would normally extend his monomolecular blade…if he still had it. Regrettably, he doesn’t have a blaster on hand to defend himself _either_ because nobody is permitted to carry one on a commercial flight, meaning he really has no real way of defending himself.

Fortunately, the stranger clues into his apprehension rather quickly. His smile wavers as he very cautiously places each of his hands on the armrests of his chair, as if to make a show of the fact that he’s unarmed. Which is probably true, because he’s not wearing a coat or loose clothing, unable to conceal much of anything beyond a small blade, should he choose to carry one. In fact, he’s dressed rather well with his polished shoes, steel blue waistcoat, and soft grey dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He looks like a professional of some sort, but of a more relaxed manner.

“I apologize for intruding earlier,” his visitor begins, taking the initiative to strike up a friendly conversation before Hux can tell him to take a hike. “When I’m drowsy, I tend to drift.”

“…Into the minds of other people?” Hux inquires, more baffled than upset. It’s been quite some time since he’s encountered another Force-user beyond Rey or Organa.

“Unfortunately, yes, but nobody usually knows I’m there because I typically don’t… _manifest_?” he squints at Hux curiously. “Is that what happened? I mean, I felt pretty solid inside your brain. I’ve never experienced anything like that before.”

Hux is at odds with himself over how much detail he should share with this bizarre gentleman. On the one hand, he doesn’t trust much of anyone outside the Resistance. But on the other, the cat’s already out of the proverbial bag here. This fellow is already aware that there’s something peculiar about Hux’s… _brain_.

“How about we begin with an introduction?” Hux cuts in, crossing one leg over the other. The sooner he can figure out what his uninvited guest wants, the sooner he can chase him off. “What do I call you?”

“Dantalian Tox,” the man replies merrily, shifting to the edge of his seat to extend his hand for a shake. “ ‘Dante’ for short. I work as a negotiator for the Doltarian tribes.”

Hux almost winces in sympathy. While many of the Doltarian tribes were peaceful folk, a number of them were still aggressive to outsiders. It had only been in recent years that other systems began reaching out to the Doltarians in an attempt to connect them to the greater universe. Those efforts had been met with mixed results. Some tribes wanted to make their presence known; others simply wanted to be left alone.

Most negotiators were either killed or chased off, but Dantalian has a charismatic spark in his eye and a perky attitude. Coupled with his unusual powers, he was probably quite successful in his profession.

“Do you use mind control?” Hux asks as he cautiously extends his own hand to take Dante’s. He gives it a cordial shake before sinking back into his chair. “To help with the negotiations, I mean?”

That earns him a huff of laughter from Dante, who looks truly amused with the notion. “What—like Darth Vader? I thought he was just a myth from the days of the Old Empire.”

“He’s not,” Hux replies quietly. “The Jedi, the Sith—Force-users are real.”

“I mean, yeah, I know that...” Dante finally leans back in his own chair and crosses his arms, staring off to the side in contemplation. “But ‘Force-users’ can move things with their mind, can’t they? That’s not my wheelhouse. All I can do is glimpse a person’s surface thoughts and feelings, usually just enough to know if they’re telling the truth. That’s why the Doltarians find me so handy.”  

Hux blinks in surprise. “You’re a negotiator… _for_ them?”

“And occasionally between them,” Dante explains. “It took me a while to gain their trust, but now some of the tribes are only willing trade with outsiders because I tag along to make sure they’re dealing with reputable people. It’s a great job once you get to know them. They’re quite a fascinating people.”

Hux, admittedly, is impressed. He didn’t know the Doltarians had opened up so much to the greater galaxy. He’s likewise astounded by the fact that Dante doesn’t realize that he’s something of a Force-user himself, at least by Holdo’s standards. Besides Holdo, Dante will be the only other person Hux knows who’s connected to the Force in an unconventional way, one which obviously affords him his telepathy.

“I can tell you’re interested to know more.” Dante smiles, rising slowly from his seat. “How about I buy you a drink? Then you can interrogate me to your heart’s content.”

Hux isn’t a fan of ‘interrogations’, given his history in the ring, nor is he particularly interested in inadvertently letting his guard down around a complete stranger. However, the station is really only so big, which nixes any hopes Hux has of avoiding this fellow indefinitely, and besides…having a civil conversation with someone outside his currently limited ‘friend group’ does sound appealing.

Dante waits patiently for him, still smiling softly, as Hux slowly rises from his seat.

“Lead the way,” Hux sighs.

~***~

“ ‘Luke’…” Dante pauses for a moment, jaw shifting, as if he were tasting the name. “I _did_ say I could tell when people were lying to me, didn’t I?”

Hux nods. ‘Luke’ isn’t even the new name he plans on assuming for himself, but another pseudonym is all he’s willing to share with this stranger at the moment.

Dante shrugs, seeming to understand Hux’s reluctance to open up to him completely. “Whatever—it doesn’t matter. What _does_ matter is that you’re the only other person like me that I’ve met in a very long time. I think that’s phenomenal.”

They both take a moment then to take a sip of their tea, tucked away in the corner of a small café up on the third of the station’s five levels. The tables nearest them are empty now, having been cleared only ten or so minutes ago when a wave of people left to board their shuttle. The two of them sat together in amiable peace until Dante broke the silence with his inquiry into Hux’s identity.

But since this was technically Hux’s interrogation, he was going to take charge here. “How long ago was that?”

“I don’t know…I think I was twelve at the time? That would be about twenty years ago, I guess.”

“What about your parents?” Hux asks. He already has an inkling Dante’s parents aren’t Force-users themselves—Holdo once implied a connection to the Force for non-users could only really be achieved through intense meditation or outside influence. Even so, it doesn’t hurt to ask.

“They’re normal.” Dante takes another sip of tea, then sets his cup down on the table between them. “This _thing_ —” He waves briefly at his own head “—is an anomaly, one that also came into existence when I was twelve.”

That was certainly interesting. “…Is this event somehow connected to this other ‘person’, perhaps?”

Dante nods. “I was running an errand for my father one day when this woman came rushing past me. She toppled me over but just kept on running, so I got up and continued on my way.” He tilts his head a little to the side, staring down at his cup of tea thoughtfully. Hux wonders how long it’s been since he’s reflected back on this encounter. “A while later, a man came jogging down the same road. We made eye contact, and suddenly I could remember my encounter with that woman with crystal clarity. It was my first, truly vivid memory.”

That was it then—that outside influence. That man touched Dante’s mind with the Force just as Luke had touched his. This crystal clarity was something Hux had likewise experienced; after all, the imaginary forest of his mind was still just as realistic to him as the day Luke first created it.

“It was just a brief interaction,” Dante continues, “but I could immediately tell he was using me to track this woman down. I wanted to ask him why he was looking for her, but at that point he’d sent my mind spiralling. Suddenly, there were a dozen voices inside my head, all from different people. Learning to drown them out took me the better part of a year, but now here I am.” He holds his hands out briefly, as if to encompass the wonder of his life. “Twenty years later and I’m still trying to keep out of the business of other people. With mixed results, of course.”

“And this man,” Hux inquires, “he’s the only Force-user you’ve ever met?”

“I grew up on a tiny island off the continent on Gammit. I pretty much lived in isolation with my family and a few neighbors for the better part of my life, which is why I think I get along with the Doltarians so well.” Dante takes his cup of tea in hand again, pausing a moment to inhale its aroma before taking another sip. “How about you? Have you always had that _‘thing’_ inside your head?”

Hux knows he can’t get away with outright lying to Dantalian, but there’s no reason he has to volunteer much in the way of details. “It’s only been with me for the last decade.”

“What is it, exactly?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did you get it?”

Hux takes a moment to sip his own tea. Then, probing, he says, “For a mind reader, I’m surprised you haven’t tried to tease any answers out of me yet in a less conventional way…”

“That’s not me,” Dante says softly. “I mean, I know it sounds as though I’ve got a gift, but, man, I _really_ hate diving into another person’s psyche. Nobody is sane. Every brain makes its own bizarre leaps of knowledge that are hard to track and even harder to shake off. In fact, _your_ mind is probably the clearest space I’ve occupied in all my years as a telepath.”

Hux can’t help but wonder if Ren has a similar experience when prying his way into another person’s mind. Did everyone else seem mad to him? Maybe that’s why he felt he was so far above and beyond the rest of them.

He was a thread of order in a sea of chaos.

Oddly enough, that would also, perhaps, explain why Ren felt as though he needed to bring the universe to heel. He probably thought he was the remedy for their collective insanity.

“You…feel kind of nervous right now,” Dante says, rousing Hux from his reverie. “If this conversation is turning out to be too much for you, I would be more than happy to call it a day. It’s not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable.”

After all those years watching his back aboard the _Finalizer_ , Hux knows he’s severely handicapped himself with respect to knowing when he can truly trust someone. However, there’s a part of him that wants to trust Dante, to relax around him the way he should be able to relax around any other well-intentioned civilians. In fact, Dante’s offer to back off comes as more of a relief than Hux was expecting.

“It’s not you,” Hux sighs, turning his cup around slowly on the table with his middle finger and his thumb. Thinking of Ren reminds him of the oily and oppressive sensation of another mind enveloping his own, of how open and exposed an invasion made him feel. Nothing else could ever compare. “I’ve had to deal with some fairly hostile forces in the past. Needless to say, you’re not the first person who’s entered my mind uninvited. My last unpleasant encounter wasn’t too long ago.”

“I can’t imagine,” Dante murmurs, staring down at his own cup, clearly uncertain of how to proceed. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“Don’t apologize,” Hux replies. “Like I said, it has nothing to do with you. In fact, I know more people who don’t abuse their powers than those that do. I feel inclined to believe you would count yourself among their number.”

Honestly, though, he wonders what Rey or Organa would think of Dante. They would truly know whether or not he was as pleasant a person as he made himself out to be…

Hux blinks.

He really _is_ curious what they would think of Dante. He knew Ren had designs to establish his own school, and Rey, who knew she needed to keep ahead of the game, was also currently on the hunt for other Force-users to bring into the fold. Clearly, Dante was nowhere near as powerful as either of them, but perhaps Rey could make use of him. Telepathy alone was an amazing gift.

“Is that all you can do?” Hux asks, only recognizing the non sequitur for what is when Dante quirks an eyebrow in confusion. “Other than your telepathy, I mean. You can pick up a person’s surface thoughts and feelings without much effort and can search for something more specific if you choose to delve deeper—can you do anything else?”

Dante’s whole demeanor brightens again suddenly. “I’m glad you asked,” he says, smiling. “Once I’ve been inside someone’s head, I can go back again. With their permission, of course. It doesn’t matter how far apart we are.”

Hux is not entirely surprised. Both Luke and Leia, after all, used to converse with him from afar when he was a covert agent for the Resistance.

Dante’s response, however, is a bit suspect.

“Why does my question make you glad?” Hux asks, frowning curiously.

“Because I wanted to ask a favor of you,” Dante replies. “I mean, _technically_ , it would be a favor for the Talos government, since they’re currently in charge of hiring and maintaining negotiators for the Doltarians. We could wait until you’ve chatted with my boss before you agree to anything.”

Considering Hux is now an employee of the government himself, he doesn’t feel inclined to immediately shut Dante down, especially since it would be relatively easy to verify whether or not his new companion is a real negotiator. All the same, Hux is hesitant to agree to anything before he knows what kind of trouble he’s signing himself up for. “What sort of favor were you thinking of…?”

“Well…” Dante takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, as though he understands Hux might outright say no. “Have you ever dealt with someone who gives you nothing but bad vibes?”

“You’re a telepath,” Hux points out. “Can’t you easily determine whether or not such ‘bad vibes’ are unfounded?”

“Not with these guys,” Dante replies, his cheerful demeanor slipping away into something entirely somber. “Beyond getting a general feeling for their surface thoughts, I can’t get past the mental wall they’ve erected for themselves. I can really only tell if they’re lying. Nothing solid about their intentions, beyond the fact that they seem rather smug about themselves.”

Something of a rock suddenly settles in the pit of Hux’s stomach. He wonders if Dante hasn’t crossed paths with one of Ren’s Knights. “I thought you said you hadn’t met anyone with extraordinary powers in the last twenty years.”

“I don’t think they have ‘powers’,” Dante continues. “The first time I probed one of their minds, they kicked me right back out and told me they were familiar with ‘my kind’.”

Fair enough. Hux knew that there were people who had trained against mental manipulation. A few of them were senior members of the First Order, old carryovers from the days of the Empire, although nobody ever seemed particularly talented at keeping Ren out.

Thinking of the First Order brings another unpleasant thought to mind. “Were these people officers?”

Dante blinks in confusion. “Officers? You mean like people in uniform?”

“Precisely.”

“Not at all. More like thugs. In fact, I’m more inclined to believe they’re members of a criminal enterprise.”

Hux takes a moment to drink his tea, confused more than anything. Just because these individuals weren’t in uniform doesn’t mean they weren’t working with the FO. “Forgive me for asking, but what were you doing conversing with probable criminals?”

Dante sighs, as though this issue is somehow the root of all his problems. “A few of the tribes I work with have gotten rather confident in trading with outsiders lately. These ‘individuals’ approached me with a request to open up a trade agreement with the Saef tribe. I didn’t much like them so I declined, but they sent a message out to the tribe already, and now the Saefs want to meet with them in person before settling on a deal, as is their tradition.”

“You think this is a bad idea,” Hux surmises. He doesn’t disagree.

“Absolutely. They’re willing to pay _way_ too much for a very particular resource. The chief thinks I’m being paranoid and wants to invite them to the planet to talk business anyway, but I have a feeling they’re the kind of people that would sooner pull their blaster on a you than strike an honest deal.”

“What kind of resource are we talking about?”

There’s a pinch of concern at the corners of Dante’s eyes and lips, like he’s hesitant to share that kind of information. However, after an uncomfortable stretch of silence, he finally relents and says, “Kyber crystals. I mean…that’s supposedly what the Empire used to power the Death Star, right? Dangerous stuff.”

Oh stars…

Hux can practically feel the blood draining from his face. The Old Empire certainly new how to weaponize the crystals and were forever hunting for new supplies. The First Order wasn’t much different.

It was in everyone’s best interest if the FO was kept _far_ away from the Doltarian system.

“I’m glad you agree,” Dante says, reading his expression. “I offered to take a tribal representative with me to meet with these guys, but the Saefs aren’t too keen on leaving their planet. I’m at my wits end because I _know_ this is going to end badly.”

“How am I supposed to help?” Hux asks, getting to the root of the matter. However, he already has an inkling why Dante would as for his assistance.

“I’ve never tried anything of the sort before, so it might be a long-shot, but I was wondering if I could use your _‘world’_ as a venue for the meeting,” Dante cautiously inquires. “I’m assuming you know how to kick someone out if they get a little out of hand? After all, you booted me out pretty effectively earlier.”

Hux did, in fact, know how to banish someone from his mind. He was even able to push Ren out the last time his old enemy barged in.

Tentatively, Hux nods. “I can, but I have no experience drawing someone else into the dreamscape. That would be entirely on you.”

“Really?” his companion looks genuinely surprised by his offer. “You’ll give it some thought?”

Considering it sounds as though the FO, or someone working for them, is afoot, Hux doesn’t feel as though he can risk _not_ investigating these people. “I’ll do it,” he replies. “In fact, I would be willing to try right now, if you have the time. I feel like the sooner we deal with these people, the better.”

“That’s very generous of you.” Smiling again, Dante relaxes somewhat in his chair. “I guess we’ll see just how far our combined efforts get us.”

~***~

Once they’ve finished up their drinks, they head off through the nearest terminal to find a secluded corner to work in. They stumble across a small niche on the second level with three alarmingly comfortable chairs and a recharger port; Hux settles down into a sear and Dante drops into the one beside him, propping his feet up on the third so that nobody is tempted to join them while they’re under.

“Before we do anything else,” Dante says as he folds his hands together over his lap and leans his head back against the lip of his seat, trying to get comfortable, “I’m going to see if everyone is up for a chat right now.”

“What exactly does this group of interlopers call themselves?”

“I only know that their representative goes by the name of Stolas. Of his group, his is the only mind I’ve been in before, albeit briefly. Does his name sound familiar to you?”

Hux shakes his head.

Dante shrugs, closing his eyes. “He’s probably not going to enjoy having me prodding his mind again, but we’ll see what happens.”

“Good luck,” Hux says softly as his companion falls into his trance.

For the better part of the next hour, Dante remains under. Beyond the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the occasional twitch of his eyelids, the other man doesn’t move a muscle. Hux barely does either, only bothering to check the chronometer on his wrist once to determine whether or not he actually has the time to investigate this _‘Stolas’_ and whatever organization he works for. In another hour, he will have to board his next shuttle. If he misses it, he’ll have a bit of explaining to do.

One of the few positives of being an FO officer was the ability he gained in refraining from fidgeting when stressed. Despite how anxious he feels about undertaking this peculiar mission, he simply sits there and focuses on taking slow, deep breaths. Eventually, he begins to relax again, and just in time for Dante’s return, which is only heralded by the gentle flutter of his eyelids as he opens them.

“How did it go?”

Dante leans his head to one side, stretching a kink out in his neck. “The chief loves the idea of meeting someone on another plane of existence. In fact, he feels like it's going to be something of a religious experience. Stolas, on the other hand, almost flat out refused. When I told him this was the only way he was going to meet the chief, he blocked me out for a while to have a chat with someone else. Eventually though, he came back to say he’s also willing to give this a go.”

“Then I certainly hope this works,” Hux replies, leaning his own head back. He stares up at the glass walkway overhead, taking a moment to centre himself, before he closes his eyes and tries to reconnect with the dreamscape.

The transition is as smooth as ever. When he opens his eyes again, he’s back on the beach, a cool breeze ruffling his hair as he stares out across the lake. Dante is already standing beside him, grinning like a maniac, marvelling at the wonder of the pocket universe.

His presence, Hux realizes, is warm and inviting. In fact, his subtle aura feels very much like Leia’s.

Dante turns slowly on the spot to observe the forest, still smiling, brow furrowed in either awe or confusion. “Is this a real place, or did you design this yourself?”

“It’s modelled after a real place,” Hux explains, not quite ready to share Luke’s story, despite how benevolent Dante seems. Another time, perhaps.

“It’s incredible,” Dante breathes.

It suddenly occurs to Hux that he’s about to invite what is presumed to be an unsavory individual into his sanctuary. The thought turns his stomach.

Dante glances aside at Hux, seemingly attuned to the swell of emotions coming off him. “Hey, please don’t force yourself through this for my sake. We can call it quits, if you’d like.”

“No,” Hux replies, hopefully not too quickly. He needs to know who this organization is and what they plan on doing with the kyber crystals. “This meeting is more important than you think.”

Dante gives him a quizzical look, but Hux doesn’t have the energy to elaborate. Instead, he tries to focus on the less abstract aspects of the dreamscape, on the concrete thrum of energy beneath it all; he tries to remember how he felt the night he banished Ren from his mind, the sensation of pulling in the water, of reshaping the world around him…

The sky darkens. His vision blurs. But only for a moment. Behind Dante there appears a stretch of stars, cold and unattainable behind a thick sheet of transparisteel glass. The view eats up the whole wall beyond the long table situated beside it.

Clearly surprised, Dante takes in the new space, which Hux subconsciously modelled off a conference room from the _Finalizer_. Honestly, the change of venue is a bit of a shock to Hux as well, because this is one of the _last_ places he would ever want to envision himself again, but the atmosphere better suits the task at hand. This is the kind of room in which FO officers met with foreign dignitaries they didn’t entirely trust yet.

“…This works too,” Dante murmurs, frowning somewhat as he takes in the three black walls bordering the room. “The décor is kind of bold though.”

Hux glances at the other walls and realizes that his brain automatically materialized the room _exactly_ as he remembered it, down to the long black and red tapestries boasting the First Order’s insignia. Seeing them sends a white hot streak of anger down his spine.

Unintentionally, his anger triggers a response. The tapestries suddenly unhook themselves from the wall and tumble down to the floor—which they then pass immediately through. The room now looks much darker without them, but Hux doesn’t care.

“Nice,” Dante remarks. “Are you ready now?”

“Just about.” Hux turns away and walks briskly toward the nearest wall. His fingers find a familiar seam between the gleaming, black panels. Applying the slightest amount of pressure triggers the opening of the hidden door, sliding smoothly to one side to permit him entrance into a small, unlit room. There is, of course, a light fixture situated above the solitary table before him, but it needs to remain off in order for the wall to appear opaque.

Dante follows him into the room out of curiosity. Once he realizes that the wall is simply a two-way mirror, he hums in understanding. “You don’t want Stolas to see you.”

“If he works for the people I’m familiar with, I can’t afford to have him recognize me,” Hux explains as he settles into one of the three chairs behind the table. From here, he can see everything inside the other room. “Does he know you’re working with someone else to set up this meeting?”

“I’m sorry,” Dante replies, somewhat sheepishly. “Since I’m really only known as a walking lie-detector, I had to let him know I was getting outside help to pull this off. I didn’t, however, tell him anything about you or this place, besides the fact that this meeting wasn’t going to be held on a physical plane of existence.”

Hux supposes it’s his own fault for not asking Dante to lie about his involvement, but what’s done is done. “That’s fine, but shut down any request to meet with me in person, should he ask. If he complains, tell him I really couldn’t care less what he thinks.”

“Will do,” Dante promises, pivoting sharply on his heel and breezing back into the conference room. The door to the surveillance hub slides shut soundlessly behind him.

Being that this is the extent of Hux’s hand in the matter, he finally takes a moment to marvel at the fact that he was able to mold the dreamscape as he saw fit. Granted, he reconstructed it to mimic one of his least favorite places in the universe, but with practice he could probably learn to reshape it into something more pleasant.

Then again…he has no real desire to change the dreamscape. It normally reflects his _true_ sanctuary, the uncharted planet where he met Luke. Beyond this little meeting he’s set up for Dante, he really has no intention of using the pocket universe as anything more than a quiet place for meditation. It has no other practical use, not unless General Organa wants to repurpose it somehow for the Resistance.

Maybe his opinion on the matter will change someday, but he’s content with how things are now.

Hux folds his hands together over the table and watches as Dante slowly begins pacing the length of the room. Hux has no idea if his companion will succeed in rerouting someone else’s brain from across the galaxy, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. At the very least, his sanguine disposition means self-doubt shouldn’t be an issue in accomplishing such an outlandish endeavour as this.

And accomplish it he does. After Dante passes the chair at the far right side of the table, momentarily blocking Hux’s line of sight, a new figure appears seated there.

Their guest is an incredibly old fellow, both his beard and his long, white hair pulled off to one side in a complicated braid, interwoven with strands of large, dark green beads. The colour matches the long swath of cloth wrapped around his frail body, a stark contrast to his pink hued skin. He looks small and feeble sitting there swallowed up by his robes, gazing up at Dante with his pitch black eyes. But after a moment passes and he settles into this new reality, the man Hux assumes to be the chief of the Saefs offers the negotiator a warm smile and reaches out to grab his hand, squeezing it affectionately.

“Your touch is so real,” the old man says slowly, forming each word with care. The Doltarians have been isolated for so long, Hux is surprised the gentleman can speak Basic at all.

“ _Iz mehg nonan tiarg_ ,” Dante replies.

The chief smiles a little brighter. “ _Iz corso so mordan. Yich ten dostoino_ ,” he says. Then he peels his eyes away from Dante to stare down the long length of the table. “And you must be _Stolas_.”

Hux’s eyes dart to the other side of the room, surprised that his other guest somehow slipped his notice. Sure enough, another, much younger, man is seated at the opposite end of the table. He’s dressed in black leathers, head shaved down to a point where only a faint fuzz of steel grey hair is visible. His devil-may-care attitude is completed by the series of small tattoos crawling up his neck, the largest of which is a golden cross over an upside down, blue triangle. It looks like a gang tag, but it isn’t one Hux recognizes. Therefore, there’s a good chance that this isn’t one of the criminal organizations on the First Order’s payroll.

Stolas’ frondeur atmosphere is mitigated by the wide-eyed look on his face as he takes in the room, glancing over first at the transparisteel viewport on his left before glancing at the deceptively opaque wall on his right. He then focuses momentarily on the polished surface of the table in front of him before he sets his eyes on Dante and the chief.

“I am indeed,” he replies, shifting in his seat, trying to get comfortable. “This _place_ is most unusual, Mr. Tox…”

“It serves its purpose well enough,” Dante replies, his cheery demeanor melting away into something more severe. He moves to stand a little behind and to the left of the chief, eyes glued to his opponent. “We have a few questions for you.”

Stolas braces his elbow against the left armrest of his chair and props his cheek up against his fist. “I thought a face-to-face meeting such as this was supposed to be nothing more than a formality. We’ve already submitted a message to the Saef people detailing what we want from them and what we’re willing to pay them in return. What more could you possibly want from us?”

“We want to know what your intentions are with the kyber crystals.”

“ _‘We’_?” Stolas cocks an eyebrow at Dante before focusing on the chief. “Does he speak for you in _all_ matters, sir?”

“With outsiders?” the chief replies sternly. “Yes.”

The corner of Stolas’ lip curls into something of a smile; Hux feels greasy just looking at him. “I think having a middleman tends to muddy up the waters of negotiation. You can’t possibly believe Mr. Tox doesn’t have his own agenda in this.”

The chief taps his temple. “I know he doesn’t.”

There’s a brief moment of silence between the two parties. Admittedly, Hux doesn’t know if the Doltarians have Force-like abilities of their own. But whether or not they do, the chief clearly knows Dante well enough to trust him implicitly.

Eventually, Stolas sits up straighter in his seat and frowns, though more so in confusion than anger. “What is this all about, Tox? You mean to tell me you _really_ don’t know what’s going on here?”

Dante shakes his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“It’s nothing untowardly, I assure you.”

“ _That’s_ a lie,” Dante snaps, pointing his finger at Stolas, smiling faintly. “That is an absolute _lie_.”

“You can’t make accusations like that,” Stolas bites back. To the chief, he says, “Do you honestly believe him?”

“I do,” the chief replies without hesitation. He taps his temple again. “ _He_ knows.”

Stolas takes a moment to stare at the old man in disbelief. Then a muscle in his jaw twitches as his face darkens. “Well, he obviously doesn’t know well _enough_ , otherwise he’d understand that _this_ —” He taps the surface of the table hard with his index finger “—is this the organization both I and the apparent architect of this place are working for.”

Both Dante and the chief glance down at the table, confused. It’s then that Hux remembers that the First Order’s emblem is faintly etched into the glass there. He’d completely forgotten about it, although his subconscious regrettably didn’t.

Hux rises from his seat, suddenly afraid. He feels exposed, both to his newfound companion and their adversary. It triggers a quivering in his gut that gradually claws its way up the back of his throat, urging him to cut himself off from this new threat. It takes quite some effort to ignore the sensation and continue maintaining their shared connection instead of simply collapsing the illusion and banishing everyone from his mind. Even so, it feels like a losing game. The voice at the back of his mind is still screaming at him to _run._

Dante’s eyes flicker briefly to Hux’s hiding spot before he fixes his steely gaze on Stolas; Hux feels something _moving_ inside him, as if Dante had taken a brief dip into his deeper psyche, searching for the truth. “He knows them, but…I don’t believe he works for them. This is simply a familiar venue to him.”

“Very few outsiders ever find a reason to board a Star Destroyer,” Stolas argues. “Fewer still are brought aboard as anything more than prisoners, who themselves are unlikely to see the inside of a formal conference room.”

The chief looks up at Dante, alarmed, looking for clarification or assurance of their safety.

Hux feels something move inside him again. His first instinct is to flinch away from it, but there’s a subtle warmth to it that helps him fight his reflexes. He knows it’s Dante. He knows the man is trying to help.

Calmly, Dante looks down at the chief and softly says, “He was their prisoner for a very long time. The experience left a scar on his mind. In fact, he’s suffering from a _raperanze_ right now, so I think it’s about time we left.”

It’s remarkable that in so few words Dante is able to banish the old man’s fear. The chief’s apprehension melts away into anger as he turns his eyes on Stolas and says, “ _No deal_.”

Stolas rises from his seat suddenly, nearly toppling his chair in the process. He shouts something in return, but Hux doesn’t hear him. He doesn’t hear anyone past that point. He’s been entirely seized by his tremor, which now spreads out to his fingertips from the very pit of his stomach. And he feels cold. Too cold. All the warmth has fled the room.

Vaguely, through the fog of his all encompassing fear, something that feels very much like a hand settles on his right arm just above his elbow as a solid form presses up against his back. Into his left ear, a deep and familiar voice rumbles, “You’ll be home again soon.”

In a blinding, white haze of terror, Hux shuts down all connections to the dreamscape.

~***~

He comes to heaving, skin covered in a thin film of cold sweat.

It takes him a while to realize he isn’t back on the _Finalizer_ , real or imagined, and that he’s instead sitting in a small nook on a space station beside Dantalian Tox. Thankfully, the other man doesn’t immediately try to say anything to him in an attempt to calm him down. He simply sits there and watches as Hux internally claws his way back to reality.

But it’s a difficult process, especially knowing that Ren was still somehow with him, that he—

“He’s not,” Dante says softly. “That spectre wasn’t real.”

“How do you know?” Hux chokes out, voice suddenly tight. It’s then that he realizes his face is wet, particularly under his eyes.

Oh stars, he’s been crying…

He hasn’t done _that_ in ages.

As he rubs his tears away, embarrassed now on top of every other awkward emotion percolating in his gut, Dante sighs and says, “I could feel you pulling him together from stray memories. That wasn’t a real person.”

Hux tries to take a deep breath. It comes in as a stuttered hiccup, which is even more humiliating than the tears, but at least he can feel some of his anxiety bleeding away with Dante’s explanation. “I’m not convinced he’s human anyway,” he mutters miserably. “So who really knows…”

His postulation is met with a long stretch of silence, wherein Dante affords him the opportunity to get a grip on himself. Once Hux is able to breathe clearly again, he asks, “What exactly is a _raperanze_?”

“One of the demons of the mind,” Dante explains. “The Doltarians believe they bring terror to us when we’re sleeping or awake. In particular, a _raperanze_ specializes in haunting people who were imprisoned and brutalized, either physically, through rape or torture, or mentally, through psychological means…I guess you could almost consider it the spiritual manifestation of PTSD.”

Hux shakes his head, confused by his own fight-or-flight response. “I don’t understand why I’m flying to pieces all of a sudden. It wasn’t too long ago that I found my freedom. When I was a captive, I had seen and done things that would horrify you, yet it seemed as though no amount of terror could make me flinch…”

“That’s probably because the danger you were in when you were there was a very real thing.” Dante reaches into the pocket of his pressed trousers and produces a clean tissue, which he pass to Hux; grateful, Hux takes it. “The brain had a sure-fire rhythm to protecting you when you were trapped in the thick of things, but now that you’re free and it has time to heal, it has no idea how to handle the stress…Have you thought about seeing someone about this?”

Hux very nearly laughs at the suggestion—but then Luke suddenly comes to mind, and Hux remembers the many meditative sessions they had together facing down Brendol Hux in an attempt to free Armitage from his inner demons…

Likewise, this problem likely isn’t going to go away until he faces it down.

“I probably should, shouldn’t I…” Hux murmurs.

“I think it would be a good investment.”

Hux nods. “I suppose while we’re on the topic of inner demons, you could tell me what you saw when you went a little deeper.”

“Oh, yeah…” Dante looks down and away for a second, embarrassed and ashamed. “I’m sorry. I could feel you panicking when Stolas accused you of working with him. I had to know if the chief and I were in danger.”

“It’s alright. I assumed that’s what you were up to. That’s why I didn’t put up a fight.”

“Well then,” Dante licks his lips, looking away again briefly as though searching for the words to best describe his experience. “Like with most people, I saw a mess of information. What I gleaned from the miasma in your mind is that there is a secret military organization called the First Order, under the command of a man named Kylo Ren, that is currently amassing its forces…Is the galaxy really at the brink of war again?”

“Yes,” Hux says without hesitation.

Dante shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’ll admit, this Kylo guy is pretty terrifying…”

“So far as I know,  he’s the most powerful Force-user in the universe.”

His companion whistles softly between his lips. “And yet…you want to _fight_ him? All alone?”

“I’m not alone,” Hux replies. “I work for a group of resistance fighters. Did you see them too?”

“A little. I was really too caught up on the fact that there’s a massive fleet of Star Destroyers the New Republic is somehow blissfully unaware of.”

 _‘Don’t remind me,’_ Hux thinks miserably. As remarkable as Holdo’s maneuver was against the _Supremacy_ , she barely put a dent in the First Order’s numbers. It was really only a matter of time before the FO made its first big move since the fiasco on Crait.

But instead of focusing on the veritable storm cloud on the horizon, Hux zeroes in on what really matters here between them. “I want to introduce you to them. I think you could help.”

His response startles an awkward laugh out of Dante, “Good grief—I’m not at _all_ a fighter, my friend. I’ve lived a truly sheltered life. I don’t think I could muster up the courage to hurt even the lowest of lifeforms.”

“And I don’t think you would need to,” Hux replies, hoping he hasn’t scared the other man off the idea of joining the Resistance already. “We’re trying to amass our own forces. We could use a negotiator right now, especially someone who could sniff out a lie as quickly as you.”

Dante opens his mouth to protest—but then slowly closes it again. He frowns a little, as though giving Hux’s offer serious thought.

Hux, not wanting to come off as too forward, wisely holds his tongue.

After what feels like a small eternity, Dante says, “Was that really Leia Organa I saw inside your head? My mother used to tell me stories about the Old Empire and the Rebellion when I was a kid. She’s quite the hero.”

“She most certainly is.”

“Any chance I would get to meet her?”

Hux finds it utterly amusing that everyone falls so readily in love with Organa, no matter the circumstances, himself included. “If you wanted to join us, she would be the one vetting you. She’ll likely reach out to you anyway to discuss the Doltarians’ supply of kyber crystals once I fill her in on what happened today.”

“Yeah—if you could find a way to get those off our hands, that would be _great_ ,” Dante mutters as he reaches up to rub his eyes, clearly exhausted by today’s ordeal. “In fact, I need to call my boss and inform him that we’d better increase security in Doltarian airspace. I can’t see Stolas giving up this easily.”

Unfortunately, Hux knows he’s probably right.

He feels a gentle vibration against his wrist just then. Glancing down, he realizes his chronometer has gone off. His next shuttle is probably here.

Rising from his seat, Hux glances down at his companion for what he hopes isn’t the last time and says, “I realize you probably want to take some time to think this over, but I’m confident you would find yourself in good company if you joined our cause. What’s the best way to reach out to you in the future?”

“I normally report to Senator Mannox of Gammit,” he replies. “Since I’m usually travelling all over the Doltarian system, he’ll know best where to find me at any given moment. I’m assuming Organa has an in with the Talos government, someone that can help her reach out to Mannox?”

“She does.”

“Alright then.” Rising from his own seat, Dante smooths down his waistcoat and offers his hand for a final shake. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Luke.”

Hux blinks in confusion before remembering their earlier conversation. He takes Dante’s hand and gives it a firm but friendly squeeze. “It’s ‘Armitage’, actually…Just, please, don’t share that with anyone.”

“I won’t,” Dante assures him. “Stay safe, my friend.”

“You as well.”

Dante flashes him a warm smile as Hux turns toward the nearest stairwell. Glancing over the glass railing of a nearby walkway, he can see that there’s a large group of people already huddled around Gate 17, slowly pressing their way out onto the jet bridge. His ride is indeed here.

He’s eager to go, but he still hasn’t shaken his lethargy from earlier. In fact, he’s made it worse by putting his brain through its paces by hosting that trans-galactic conference call and then allowing himself spiral into an emotional wreak. He feels his limited energy waning by the time he reaches the bottom of the stairs and pauses just a moment to collect himself, tossing his tissue into the nearest waste receptacle.

He’ll have to be more careful with how he uses the dreamscape in the future.

Slowly, carefully, he heads off in the direction of Gate 17. People are still funneling onto the jet bridge, eager to get the best seats. He passes a security officer on his way over, who nods at Hux and, chuckling, says, “Long trip?”

“Indeed,” Hux replies, offering the man a small smile. He can hardly wait until he returns home. He’s going to sleep well tonight, he thinks.

As he approaches the fringe people tiredly lumbering through the gate, he reaches into his coat pocket to produce his ticket and spares one last glance over his shoulder at the overhead walkway, wondering if he’ll truly ever see Dantalian Tox again.

He is fortunate enough to get one last glimpse of the man. Dante is standing out on the walkway, leaning against the glass railing. He’s facing Hux, but his eyes are trained on a little boy and girl running circles around their poor father below him. He looks tired himself. But happy. He has such a positive aura about him; he’s a complete contrast to the warped attitude of most First Order personnel. He and Dameron would probably get along like a house on fire.

Hux wonders if he’ll ever be as happy himself.

Lost in thought, letting the crowd around Gate 17 herd him forward, sucking him into the fray, he only vaguely takes notice of the two other individuals on the walkway. What truly pricks his attention about them is the brisk pace with which they’re moving, heading directly for Dante.

Hux shifts his gaze to the tallest of the two strangers, a human with a shaved head and a dark blue jacket. There’s nothing too remarkable about him, save for the large tattoo on the side of his neck of what appears to be an upside-down triangle.

Hux’s eyes dart back to Dante, who’s still idly watching the children.

Someone steps on the back of Hux’s heel as he comes to a sudden halt.

“Do you mind?” Hux snaps at the gentleman directly behind him. Then he takes a deep breath and hollers, “ _Dantalian_!”

He gets a few dirty looks from the exhausted travellers nearest him, but his intended target gets the message loud and clear. Dante’s head snaps up, confusion clear on his face as he follows Hux’s line of regard toward the two men now hotfooting it across the bridge toward him.

Hux tries to push his way back toward the edge of the crowd, eyes still trained on Dante. He doesn’t know what else he can do for the man—but suddenly his involvement no longer matters. The second Dante turns to run, he crashes into a security guard. Subsequently, his two would-be pursuers stop dead in their tracks.

A second guard appears beside the first, and the goons begin to rethink their approach. It matters little though, because as soon as one of the guards waves them over to determine why exactly Dante looks like he’s seen a ghost, his would-be pursuers turnabout face and run.

Somebody else steps on Hux’s foot. Instead of snapping at them, Hux stands there and watches the miscreants flee with mild amusement. Eventually, though, one of the attendants by the gate snaps her fingers at him, fetching Hux’s attention, and says, “Don’t hold up the crowd, sir.”

He ducks his head in apology and finally allows the masses to press him forward again, flashing his ticket at the attendant at he passes, although she barely glances at it, too focused on getting everyone boarded on time. Then he’s out on the jet bridge, surrounded by glass and the speckled beauty of space, on the final stretch of his trip.

As he walks the length of the bridge, he glances back toward the space station. He wonders if Dante will be alright without him. Security was clearly aware that there was an issue, but Hux doesn’t have much faith that they could arrest two individuals for shady behavior alone. Running from an officer will likely result in a shift boot and ban from the space station, at the very worst.

Even so, at least Dante is now aware that this criminal organization is keeping an eye on him. If he can make it to his next destination in one piece, he can probably leverage whatever help he needs to track down his pursuers or at least keep himself inaccessible to would-be assassins.

Hux sighs and turns his head forward. There rarely seems to be a time when someone’s life isn’t in jeopardy, at least so far as he’s concerned.

~***~

The ship that will ferry him to his final destination is one of the largest in Talos’ commercial fleet, with three levels and a carrying capacity of over one thousand passengers. It contains six large passenger halls and a hundred private nooks for travellers hitching a ride to one of the seven distant systems included in the fleet’s advertised voyage path. It also boasts an on-board restaurant, café, and entertainment arena on the top deck, although Hux avoids this area like the plague. He’s tired and he can feel a headache brewing, so he wonders down to the second level to find a place to sleep in one of the larger halls.

Since the ship is on the last leg of today’s journey, most of its passengers had already disembarked at the previous station. As such, room is plenty and privacy somewhat attainable. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if a number of the nooks on the lower level were free, since the shuttle will reach Talos Prime in a little over fifty minutes. The only thing stopping him from venturing further below deck is the wave of fatigue that washes over him when he spots a long line of empty seats beside a viewport. He drops into the seat closest to the transparisteel panel and leans his head back, staring up at the ceiling in a daze. He’s almost home.

Since he doesn’t painkillers on hand and he’s too lazy to buy some from the on-board shop, he closes his eyes and tries to relax. He drifts for a short while, only stirring once the ship disengages from the station. Then he wakes up to realize how cold he is and, shuddering, shuffles a few seats away from the viewport to warm himself up again.

At a distance, people are seated either huddled together or all alone. There’s the soft, almost imperceptible buzz of conversation around him and the quiet hum of the ships internal workings, which is, altogether, a most peaceful sound. In the corner of his eye, he spots three children, a boy and two girls, waving colourful streamers through the air above their parents heads, clearly on their way either to or from one of today’s many celebrations.

Since mostly everyone is already seated, it’s only by fluke that Hux vaguely notices the solitary man that enters the room at the far end of the hall, standing there for an uncomfortably long moment before finding a seat. Hux peels his eyes away from the happy family just in time to catch the man’s stare before the fellow quickly looks away.

Hux’s paranoia immediately rears its ugly head again.

He blatantly stares at the other man as the stranger now pointedly looks anywhere but at him, seemingly just as fascinated by the small children as Hux was only moments ago. He’s older than Hux, and bulky and blond, and, at a distance, it looks as though there’s a tattoo on the side of his neck, although the angle at which he’s sitting at makes it difficult to discern whether or not it’s of a familiar geometric shape.

Two thoughts immediately come to mind:

First, obviously more people were tracking Dante than Hux anticipated.

Second, Hux painted quite the target on his back when he tried to warn Dante about his pursuers.

Slowly, Hux rises from his seat and stuffs his hands into his coat pockets. The only items on him are his tickets for today’s trip and a small tin of mints, nothing that has much of any potential as a weapon. He’s entirely unarmed.

There’s a sudden itch on the inside of his wrist, right where his monomolecular blade once rested.

He feels naked without it.

Given his pursuer’s attempt to watch Hux from a distance, it’s obvious he doesn’t want to make a scene. That works for Hux, because it affords him the opportunity to stroll toward the opposite end of the hall to the second entrance. Once he’s out, he really only has two options: either find a secluded place to hide for the remainder of the trip or keep on the move until he finds a security officer. The latter of the two options appeals to Hux a great deal more, both because he knows trying to hide might inadvertently trap him somewhere with his pursuer and because his pursuer’s companions have already demonstrated their fear of discovery by the authorities.

As soon as he hits the corridor outside the hall, he takes a sharp turn to the left and, without wasting his time by glancing back at his pursuer, heads up the stairwell to the uppermost level. The comforting lull of weary travellers below is replaced with the diapason of the livelier passengers and the soft melody of music floating out from the entertainment hall. There’s a long line of people wrapped around the restaurant bar, either finishing up their meal or grabbing a snack for the last leg of their journey. Hux situates himself close to the far right wall, scanning the masses for someone in a uniform.

There’s the squeal of laughter, followed by the soft _whumph!_ of something imbedding itself in the wall. Hux turns his head forward and comes to an immediate halt, staring at the slim, silver dart at about eye level. A few inches to the left and he’d be dead right now.

Hux takes a quick glance at the crowd, but nobody is looking his way, not even his assailant, whoever they may be.

Mortified, Hux ducks his head and picks up his pace, navigating his way through the crowd with the practiced ease of an officer dodging frantic colleagues on the bridge in battle. There’s a frantic uptick in his heartrate, followed by the reminder that he is unarmed and trapped on a vessel with a group of people who would very much like to see him dead right now. He hasn’t felt this helpless in quite some time.

He somehow fails to encounter any security personnel on his mad dash to the next stairwell. He completely skips the second level down because he already knows what’s waiting for him there and instead descends to the bottom deck, where the private quarters are tucked away.

As soon as he reaches the lower level, he’s stricken by how silent it is down here. Of course, he knows the private rooms are heavily insulated against sound, but the relative quiet around him brings his attention back to his thundering heartbeat and the slight sting in his lungs. He hasn’t had to run from anything in a long time. Clearly, he’s out of shape.

Trying to calm himself, Hux begins pacing down the first long corridor, eyeing the occupancy displays above each of the rooms’ numbered plaques, searching for an available suite. He doesn’t like the idea of sitting idle down here, but the doors to these rooms lock, and if his assailants try searching the rooms by force someone is bound to call security on them.

Unfortunately, none of the rooms in the first row appear to be free. Idly, he decides he’ll take a left at the fork up ahead, but he only just reaches the intersection in the hall when it happens—something large swings out in front of him and connects with his throat, knocking him clean off his feet.

The wind is knocked out of him when he hits the floor, further confounding his ability to breathe as he struggles to inhale past the pain in his throat. Wheezing, he stares up at the man from before, the one who was watching him on the second deck. The man spares Hux a glance before looking down the hall. It’s then that Hux notices a woman with a long blonde braid and a triangular tattoo on her neck fiddling with a silver dart in her right hand as she approaches them from the other end of the hall. The two of them share a quiet nod before the man leans down, grabs Hux by the lapels of his coat, and hauls him to his feet. Then he pushes Hux into one of the rooms that Hux assumed was already occupied and waves his hand over the door sensor to shut it behind them.

It’s a cramped space with a small sink in one corner and a bed nailed to the floor in the other. Hux has about seven feet of free moving space, which he stumbles backward across as the man advances. He’s still wheezing, mind frantically trying to find a way out of his predicament, when the man delivers a swift kick to his chest. There’s an explosion of pain in his ribs as Hux collides with the wall, bashing the back of his head against it hard enough to see stars. He’s only mildly conscious of the fact that he’s slid down to the floor, barely able to sit upright as he continues to struggle to breathe.

He’s going to die.

It almost feels like an abstract thought, because there’s still a part of him hysterically searching for a way out of this predicament. Realistically though, there is no escape. He knows it; his assailant surely knows it, too, as he grabs Hux by the ankle and drags him further down the wall, lying Hux flat out on the ground to give himself a bit of space as he straddles Hux's waist and curls his hand around his throat. No words pass between them. His murderer performs his duty with the cold and clinical efficiency of a machine, dark eyes focused on his face as he _squeezes_ , doing everything in his power to steal away Hux’s last breath.

And he succeeds. Hux can’t breathe. There’s a throbbing pain in his head accompanied by the ache in his throat, a brief moment before everything collapses and he’s drawn into the darkness…

~***~

He’s sitting at the head of the conference table and he’s waiting.

Though he doesn’t know for what.

His orders, he supposes.

He feels emotionally removed from himself at the moment. Perhaps slightly confused, but nothing much beyond that. Calm more than anything, like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

Slowly, he pushes his chair back from the table, glancing over the red and black tapestry on the far wall as he gradually turns toward the large viewport on his right. He walks up to it and stops, staring at the vast expanse of stars stretched out before him. He can see his reflection, too, tall and slender in his black uniform, coppery hair slicked back, his face as pale as a specter’s.

Everything is in its place again.

He can feel the shadows creeping up behind him, some powerful force coming from both within and without, enveloping him as his gaze is drawn a little down and to the left.

Far below the _Finalizer_ he sees a planet. It is lush and green. Familiar. A part of him aches at the sight of it.

At the same time, he hears the groan of duristeel and the tickle of water as it begins seeping into the room through the tiny cracks in the walls. It laps at his leather boots, rising rapidly to his calves and then further still, cold through the material of his uniform. It fills the void inside him, that menacing pull of energy that stretches from the crown of his head all the way down to his groin. He savors the sensation. Lets it fill him and consume him in equal measure, until the water level rises above his head and he feels himself falling backward.

He lands gently against the murk of sand and clay, the water still sloshing to and fro above him. There are hands on his throat and a heavy weight sitting astride his waist, but then the body pinning him down is knocked back by a powerful wave. The man loses his grip and Hux takes this opportunity to sit up, free at last.

They’re in his sanctuary. In particular, the shallows of the lake, only deep enough for the water to lap at Hux’s shoulders as he kneels there in the cold. It is overcast and windy, a storm brewing above them, but the one that threatens to spill out from inside him is the true threat here. It feeds into the dark calm of his mind as he straddles his flailing assailant and wraps his hands around the other man’s throat, holding him under the water, pinning him down with barely any effort. The man thrashes but cannot rise; he can’t breathe.

He’s going to die.

A wave washes over Hux’s head from behind before the water recedes again. Then another, following the rhythmic suck and swell of the lake against the shore. He breathes in between the waves, the steady flow of air coming in and out, swelling inside him. He feels the power of it all in the burning sensation of his lungs. He feels it too in the tight ring of his hands around his victim’s throat and the powerful undulation of another being between his legs, the writhing body beneath him still trying to break free and failing. He wonders if this is how Ren feels when the Force is moving through him, if it is always such a sweet seduction, or if this experience is unique to Hux—a triumph and a surrender all wrapped up into one. That’s how his other self used to operate, after all, allowing himself to be ravished in order to deal the killing blow.

It’s only as the fight begins to go out of his opponent that Hux feels the hand on his shoulder. In the corner of his eye, he now sees someone standing in the shallows beside him, the hem of their white and grey robes pulled with the waves. Their touch somehow reminds Hux of the cold—of the _unbearable_ cold, the one that sends a tremor through his body. It seizes him, frightening him back from the darkness—

~***~

—and returning him to the light.

It also reminds him of the horrible pain in his chest and throat.

Slowly, he comes to the realization that he’s no longer being held down. In fact, his assailant looks as though he was dragged off Hux by his companion, who is now gently slapping the other man’s face, trying to rouse him.

Given the tight space, sitting upright puts Hux well within striking distance of the woman. She seems to only remember he’s there when she turns to receive a rather severe back-handed hit to the face with his closed fist. It slams her head against the lip of the sink and knocks her out cold in an instant. She immediately slumps down onto her equally unconscious companion.

Hux sits there for a moment, stunned by his own behavior, still wheezing. After the horror of his reaction begins to wear off, he leans forward and presses his finger against the woman’s throat, feeling for her pulse. It’s there. So is her companion’s when Hux checks, which is the extent of his goodwill toward them before he struggles painfully to his feet. He grabs the woman’s dart on his way out and jabs it into the door’s outer sensory panel, leaving it wide open for the authorities once they make their inevitable round of the lower deck.

In the meantime, Hux finds himself wandering down the hall almost aimlessly, terrified of the possibility of there being others on the ship hunting him. So he takes a left, then a right, searching for a truly unoccupied room to hunker down in until he reaches Talos Prime. Once he finds one, he locks the door behind him and sits down gingerly on the edge of the cot, chest burning with every inhalation. He doesn’t know if he’s simply bruised his ribs or broken them. Either way, he’s in pretty bad shape.

And in more way than one.

Once the adrenaline has begun to wear off, he feels something like anger and grief bubbling up inside him. Besides his obvious anguish over nearly dying, he’s now forced to reflect on how close he came to murdering someone with the same black passion as his enemies. This isn’t like him. It isn’t like him at all— _stars_ …what would Organa think of him if she knew?

Realistically, she would probably be just as supportive of him as ever, but Hux doesn’t want to revisit his experience today ever again. His ‘sanctuary’ is nowhere near as harmless as he once thought. Something is lurking there, either internal to his other self or planted there by Ren, and he has no interest in investigating it further. He’s done. He can’t afford to lose himself like that again.

Eyes stinging, body aching, Hux scoots himself further onto the bed and leans back against the wall. He focuses on the pain and tries to ignore the tears gathering in the corner of his eyes until the ship shudders to a halt and an announcement comes on the overhead PA system to announce their arrival on Talos Prime. Then he carefully removes himself from the bed and joins the flood of people now out in the hall, giving no mind to the many curious stares that linger on the ring of bruises around his throat or his red-rimmed eyes.

As he’s finally leaving the ship, he spots a group of security guards huddled around his assailants in the station. Neither one of them notices Hux, so he keeps his head down and walks as quickly as he can manage toward the exit. With any luck, they’ll be wanted for other criminal activities unrelated to today’s fiasco. Then maybe he’ll never have to worry about them again.

When Hux steps outside, he flips his collar up against the cold and takes a look around. Talos Prime is mostly a desert planet, although it’s far enough away from the sun that its climate is generally cool. Here, in the city of Asgua, the towering, white buildings serve as a kind of wind barrier, although on days like today it’s still a little blustery. The chill reaches down inside him, reminding him too much of the void.

Hux shudders and wanders over toward the main street outside the ground station, hopping aboard one of the hover trolleys en route to the city centre. Thankfully, nobody pays Hux any mind as he takes a seat in the far corner at the back, still wheezing gently, counting down the minutes until his journey is over.

Blessedly, it ends without too much trouble. He hops off the trolley at city hall, pauses a moment to catch his breath, and then slowly makes his way up the front steps.

Once he makes it through the front entrance, he spots a handful of his companions lounging around the large fountain in the foyer. Dameron, McKay, Finn, and Okim are laughing at some inside joke when McKay finally spots him and jovially declares, “Right on time, as always!”

Hux nods, offering a small smile in return as he approaches. Once he’s close enough, all eyes, inevitably, narrow in on his throat.

“What happened to you?” Finn asks, good cheer gradually fading. “You can’t go in looking like this. Kaydel is going to freak...”

“Long story,” Hux croaks. He pauses to clear his throat, but that hardly helps. It fact, now it hurts more. “Do you have water?”

“Just a sec,” McKay replies as he runs off to find him something to drink.

“Can you at least give us the abridged version?” Dameron murmurs, giving Hux the once over. His gaze lingers for a moment on Hux’s chest. “Is that a boot print?”

“I had a run in with a gang,” Hux explains, “and I made a friend. The General will want to meet him.”

“Is this ‘friend’ the sort of person she and Rey have been looking for?”

Hux nods.

“Your coat is torn,” Okim sighs, shrugging off his own. His is long and black, one of few nicer items in his possession. He hands it over to Hux. “I don’t know what to do about your shirt, man. Try brushing it off a little?”

“About that,” Dameron chuckles, still eyeing the boot print. “Do you think you’ve got bruised or broken ribs?”

“Possibly,” Hux replies as he carefully removes his jacket with Okim’s aim. He tries to brush off some of the dirt on the front of his shirt before he slips on the other coat. McKay returns just then with his canteen of water. Hux takes a sip, silently agonizes at the pain of swallowing in his state, and hands the canteen back.

“Then maybe we should get you checked out first.”

“Later,” Hux replies. He’s been looking forward to this all day. It’s going to be the silver lining on what has been an otherwise bloody frustrating experience. He can have a doctor poke and prod him later. It’s enough having his friends fuss over the state of his attire now, as if they weren’t just as scruffy as he was on any given day.

After he adjusts his coat a little more, he pauses and takes a deep, rasping breath. The gentlemen stare at him as though they’re just waiting for his lungs to collapse, but he’s optimistic he can make it through the night without passing out. Today has been a difficult ordeal, true, but it’s coming to its close now. He survived, and he has so much to look forward to in the coming years of his freedom.

“The man wants to get married,” Finn chuckles, “so let him. Kaydel can drag him to the doctor later.”

“You know she’s going to be upset with us for not going with him today,” Dameron points out, transitioning into a long, comical quibble about how this isn’t even the worst sort of trouble Hux has gotten them into since joining their merry band of renegades.

Hux listens to them in mild amusement as they make their way to the officiant’s office, where the others are already likely waiting.

Trouble that he might be, he’s glad they really don’t mind including him in their company.

~***~

He stands by the viewport and stares out at the ruddy, red planet of 63879000231 down below.

It doesn’t have a name yet. Or, rather, it has thirty names that the Saef tribe seem to use interchangeably depending on the time of the year. None of them have been used in its intergalactic annotation, though, simply because the Doltarians covet all things in their possession, still trying to keep themselves secret in some small way from the rest of the universe…

It took Stolas _months_ to gather what information he needed to strike a deal on the kyber crystals, and now he has to abandon that endeavour altogether. Already, he’s been warned that the Talos government is sending extra support to monitor the airspace around 63879000231. They themselves will be leaving within the hour before anyone can figure out they were ever there. He can still inform the First Order of the kyber supply, so they’re not exactly operating at a complete loss, but information never sells for anywhere near as much as solid supplies. They’ll get maybe a twentieth of the payout they were hoping for. If they’re lucky.

They’re not exactly hurting for money right now, but this was just too swift and bitter a defeat for him to look over. He knew Dantalian Tox was going to be a problem, but Stolas had been hoping to worm his way into the Saefs’ good graces before the other man could kick up too much of a fuss. Now not only did the Saefs’ know about their ill intentions, but some of their youngest recruits were just apprehended by the Talos authorities.

And Tox still lives.

Stolas crosses his arms and exhales slowly through his nose. After a beat, he asks, “Did we at least get a description of Tox’s companion?”

“We did,” Aloras replies from where she’s sitting in her lounge chair in the far corner. She’s currently drafting up a report on one of the more successful missions the First Order hired them on for. “A tall, pale man with red hair. Late twenties to early thirties. Speaks basic. Name unknown. He was on his way to Talos Prime, but we don’t know if that was his final destination. He’s probably been on good terms with the First Order at some point in his life since he’s been aboard one of their ships—I think that’s the long and short of it.”

“Name unknown…” Stolas sighs, closing his eyes. “We can’t exactly kill someone when we don’t even know their name.”

“While we’re on the topic of ‘killing’ these gentlemen, I actually have a suggestion…”

Stolas opens his eyes and turns to face his sister. She has her legs tucked comfortably under her, a datapad blinking up at her from her lap.

“The First Order sent a missive out a few cycles ago asking for information about any ‘Force-sensitive’ individuals,” she explains. “I believe their new Supreme Leader is interested in developing an army of his ilk…”

‘Force-sensitive’ individuals were not an easy find considering the great purge undertaken by the Sith decades ago, so the information they were sitting on was as good as gold. And Stolas knew all about the Knights of Ren and their cultish ways, how good they were at breaking a person down and bending them to their will. If it was true that Kylo Ren was looking for recruits, he likely didn’t care if they came to him willing or not…

Stolas would just _love_ to see Tox squirming at the end of their hook.

“Give them everything we have on Dantalian Tox,” Stolas replies, finally finding a sliver of peace within himself. He could already picture the First Order dragging the other man off screaming into the night. It sent a small thrill down his spine. “And give them our description of his companion. Once they have Tox, they can pry whatever additional information they need from him.”

“Will do,” Aloras replies, lifting her datapad again to do just that.

Satisfied, Stolas turns back toward the viewport to take in 63879000231 one last time.

It turns out today’s venture wasn’t an absolute a loss after all…

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Yep, Hux still wants to live his modest dream. Stay tuned to see how well that turns out for him, especially once he realizes what kind of evil is afoot.
> 
> Break time is over, Hux;.
> 
> Aside: Also, ten brownie points to anyone who can guess what other kind of 'trouble' he's gotten himself into lately before I start posting the next story.


End file.
